Aftermath
by petite etoile22
Summary: Inspired by the Series 8 finale; After that moment, Ros' life becomes remarkably simple. There is darkness.


_**Author's Note:** This was inspired by the awesomeness that was the Series 8 finale. The quotes in bold are lifted from the episode itself. Enjoy, and I hope you had a nice holiday._

_**Disclaimer:** Spooks belongs to BBC and Kudos productions._

* * *

"_**How long do we have left?"**_

"_**Not long."**_

After that moment, Ros' life becomes remarkably simple. There is darkness, with the occasional spot of light. Later, she realises that these moments were not some metaphor of her imminent death; they were moments of consciousness and unconsciousness. When her tired mind decides that her fractured body is coping quite well with _surviving_, Ros wakes up. Her throat burns, her eyes sting, her head pounds, and her chest is tight with pain. Those things don't concern her. The fact that she can feel no such things from the waist down, does. As her eyes begin to refocus, Ros discovers that she's not alone.

"Thank God you're awake."

"Home Secretary?"

"He was discharged a couple of days ago; you shielded him from the worst of the damage. I thought I told you no heroics."

"It's my job."

"How are you feeling?"

Ros closes her eyes, the hospital lights overwhelming. "Like I've been hit by a brick wall. Not really what you mean though?"

"The doctors said there might be complications."

"Nothing; from the waist down. But you knew that."

"They say you can start physio in a couple of weeks."

"Well, isn't that wonderful?"

* * *

She's discharged in a wheelchair; she can just about wiggle her toes on a good day. Malcolm picks her up from the hospital (he's the only visitor she allowed) and takes her back to his. He is quiet, and takes all her bitching with remarkable good grace. He talks about his mother and her delight at a female sharing his habitat even if it is due to very unfortunate circumstances. And although he can't prevent her depression, he muddles through as best he can.

"Don't you dare open that curtain..." Ros growls as Malcolm flings the material apart, forcing light into her refuge. "If I had legs that worked, I'd kick you right now."

"And it would hurt very much. The nurse is downstairs to see you."

"I'm not taking morphine; I'd like to feel _something _at least."

"Actually, she's here to book your physio."

"I told you-"

Malcolm shakes his head. "And I refuse to let you give up. You survived an explosion; you're bloody well going to get over this. Now, shall I tell her to come in or are you going out?"

Ros is rigid; her jaw set and fists clenched. "Give me ten minutes."

Twenty minutes later, she's wheeling herself into the living room. She returns Malcolm's encouraging smile with an imperceptible nod and altogether ignores the nurse's 'chipper' demeanour.

"Let's get this over with shall we?"

* * *

Malcolm watches with interest when they bump into Andrew Lawrence outside of the hospital. He expects Ros to request to go back inside, to avoid letting anyone see her in this 'weak' state; instead, she does nothing.

"Ros?"

"Andrew. How's the arm?" she inquires, inclining her head toward his sling.

"Better. It's my last session of therapy today."

Ros nods tensely. "Congratulations."

"You know, I was rather surprised to see Harry enter my office upon my return. I distinctly remember telling you he was sacked."

Ros smiles properly for the first time in nearly four months. Malcolm's eyes twinkle sagely when he sees her expression reflected in the Home Secretary's.

"I hope to see you back among us soon. By the way, your advice worked."

"What advice?"

"I think he's beginning to warm to me; I stopped seeking his approval." Malcolm suspects that he's now seeking someone else's approval altogether.

Ros lips twitch again as Andrew makes his way into the hospital and Malcolm helps her into the car. He says nothing of the fact that neither of him were aware of his presence during their little exchange.

"He's nice," he comments, starting the engine.

"Yes, he is."

Malcolm can't help but smile at the absence of their stock phrase, 'for a politician'.

* * *

Andrew Lawrence inquires after Ros every day after that (discreetly of course). Malcolm suggests he come over, but the young man always refuses. He suspects the poor boy is afraid of Ros; Malcolm thinks he has nothing to worry about. It is only when he hears the relief in Andrew's voice when he tells him of the slight improvement in Ros' legs, that he understands the issue; the man feels guilty. Malcolm doesn't know how to explain how Ros' mind works; it is a complex, messy, twisted enigma that she herself barely understands most of the time. All he knows is that since their brief encounter at the hospital, she asks for the curtains to be opened nearly every other morning.

When Malcolm enters her room, she's sobbing from the pain. The doctors warned him that this would happen; the physio causes blood stimulation in the affected limbs, which in turn creates a sensation similar to Pins and Needles. Malcolm doesn't recall Pins and Needles rendering a person unable to think straight.

"Malcolm!" she exclaims breathlessly, "Ibuprofen. Floor."

He hurries over, picking up the orange bottle and extracting two for the blonde. She swallows them dry and clutches his hand tightly, nails digging into his wrist.

"I should've died. I should've died; dying would be less painful."

"Dying wouldn't have done anything productive. This just means you're getting better."

"It hurts though, it really fucking hurts."

"I know," Malcolm whispers, gently stroking her hair. "We know."

"We?"

"Harry and the others visited constantly while you were unconscious; I'm surprised the nation's still standing. They still ask after you every day, respecting that you don't want to see them right now. Andrew does the same."

"Andrew?" Ros questions. Her tone is confused, but Malcolm feels her grip on his hand lessen slightly.

* * *

Since Ros began permitting visitors, he isn't surprised to see Andrew standing before him when he opens the door. He lets him pass with courteous smile, pointing him in the direction of Ros' room. He only hopes the man's courage rewards him. Andrew exhales nervously before knocking the door.

"Come in."

If she's surprised to see him, she doesn't show it. She merely smiles and indicates for him to take a seat by the window. He must admit that she looks rather _different _with her hair in messy bun, face devoid of make-up, and book resting on her lap. Ros stretches, and he notices the slight ripple her arm muscles make. Andrew rather morbidly thinks that she could carry him quite easily now if the situation demanded it.

"I thought I'd pay you a visit. To say thank you."

"That's very nice of you. How are things back at Whitehall? Malcolm won't let me anywhere near the news."

"Nothing of interest. Still a 'back channel'. Thought of a sexier name yet?"

Ros laughs. "I wouldn't worry too much about that," she stops herself from uttering the second half of her sentence. "It's good to know that Harry isn't giving you too much trouble."

"Oh, I didn't say that. How's your physiotherapy?"

"Good." Ros is silent, and for a moment he fears he's crossed some invisible line. "Difficult, but good. The pain's better, and I took my first steps the other day."

"That's excellent!" Andrew wants to kick himself at the abundance of excitement in his voice.

"Malcolm said the same thing."

He excuses himself when she yawns, saying he doesn't want to tire her out. Her mouth twitches slightly at the unintentional innuendo. She can't explain the feeling of slight disappointment when he closes the door behind him, yet knows she doesn't want to shrug it off.

* * *

"_**You see that light there? Well that is what we are aiming for. That's our way out of here, okay? Just keep moving towards the light."**_

Ros throws herself whole-heartedly into her therapy after that. She is surprised to see Malcolm chatting to Andrew after one of her sessions, but it soon becomes habit. And then there become certain days where only Andrew is there to collect her; he takes her to dinner before dropping her home. They both know it means more than they say it is, but it's easier to keep it simple when everything else about their lives is complicated.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I blew up a restaurant?"

Andrew shakes his head. "Why on earth did you do that?"

"The service was terrible," she deadpans with a wry smile.

He doesn't call her 'beautiful' and she doesn't call him 'sweet', but the adjectives are nestled beneath other actions and words. Malcolm doesn't think he's seen a relationship move at such a gentle pace since Harry and Ruth. He's pleased that Ros might've found someone; someone outside of the Service, someone unlikely to desert her whether they be willing or not.

Her upper body is tense, her hands are shaking, but her eyes never leave him. She's vaguely aware of Malcolm following close beside her; she'd shown him the night before and it was his idea to make it a surprise. She loses her balance and for an instant, she suffers this overwhelming fear that she'll fall. The ghost of Malcolm's fingers at the base of her spine helps her right herself, and she continues slowly but surely to her chair.

"So?" she asks breathlessly, a faint gleam of perspiration on her forehead and a rose tint to her cheeks.

"I'll have you dancing in no time," Andrew smiles.

**_

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Please Review!_**


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